The author, Joseph Allen, is
aware of human flaws and builds them into the plot effectively. Allen has an
eye for detail. When Denis Rosa’s wife, Elissa, dies under strange
circumstances, Allen takes the reader into Rosa’s mind, jumping around in bouts
of pressure. Allen effectively runs the reader up and down the paths of
reasoning. Through twists and turns, the cliff plays a role in closure.

TAGLINE

When his ex-wife drowns in her back yard,
Denis Rosa encounters guilt, drugs, violence and solace trying to repair his
psyche and his family.

BLURB

When
his ex-wife drowns in a hot tub in California, Denis Rosa sets out to bury her
and sell the house. He confronts her philandering history and her fixation on
young chicano boys, and is the victim of a vicious attempted murder without
ever knowing why. The house on the cliffside on Rocky Point Road holds a ghost,
a hidden treasure of some kind, and decades of memories for the Rosa family.
When Detective Sue Mason is assigned to the case, her son and his soon-to-be
husband and two dogs move into the house with Denis to protect him from further
attacks. Is it drug-related? The wife was alcoholic and smoked grass, but
nothing hard. Denis confronts his ghosts as he finds himself attracted to Sue.
The key to the plot is found when Denis slides off the edge of the cliff.

EXCERPT

He
looked at his sons and wondered what could have happened if he had hung out
there instead of going away. Fishing trips to Catalina maybe, stuff like that,
tickets to the Rose Bowl, although he was not a football fan, picnics with the
grandkids.

The
doorbell snapped him out of that. It was two plainclothes police officers, a
stocky man of about fifty with salt-and-pepper, short-cropped hair and a
well-tailored suit, and a fit-looking woman of about the same age with pants, a
white blouse open at the neck, low, stacked-heel pumps and her dark hair up in
a bun. No ring. They were Detective Ron Furman and Detective Sue Mason from the
LA County Sheriff's Department.

He
showed them into the living room and offered to make them some coffee. They
declined.

"Mr.
Rosa," Furman said, "we got the results of the autopsy, and you were
right that there were indications that your wife had ingested GHB, as you
apparently did yesterday. The bottle of vodka had GHB crystals dissolved in it.
Alcohol is an excellent solvent for GHB."

"So
she died of a drug overdose?" Rich asked.

"No.
She died from drowning, her lungs were full of chlorinated water from the hot
tub, but she was certainly unconscious when she slid under the water, or was
pushed under the water. There were no signs of a struggle."

"She
was murdered then."

"That
is a possibility," Furman said. "We need to investigate more. She
could have taken the drug on purpose. It is called Liquid Ecstasy in the clubs
and lots of people abuse it recreationally. And you did find marijuana in the
freezer, and some poppers, and there were a variety of uppers and downers in
the medicine chest."

"But
you'd have to be suicidal to take a drug and then sit in a hot tub," Denis
said.

"Then
she was murdered," Denis said, standing up. "I had some of that vodka
and it threw me on the floor in a matter of minutes. I could not have drunk
enough of it to get even tipsy before I passed out. Someone must have added it
to the vodka after she had been drinking."

"That's
a possibility," Mason said. "Or she could have added it to the vodka
herself."

"And
who put it back in the pantry?"

"She
could have done that herself, and then taken the drink outside in the hot tub,
although according to the report there was no glass found at the hot tub, so
maybe she just chugged some vodka and then got in the water."

She’s
trying to find a logical sequence of events. He looked at her making notes.
She's pretty. But that doesn't change the fact that Elissa was killed by
someone else.

"We
want to have a funeral," Denis said. "And she wanted to be
cremated."

"The
coroner will release her to you for the funeral and there is no reason you
cannot carry out her wishes. The coroner has some specimens, x-rays and photos
if we need them."

"One
other thing," Furman said. "There was sperm in her, so we have DNA
from a guy who was with her fairly recently."

"That's
not a surprise," said Denis. "She had an eye for guys, I guess you
would say."

"Does
that bother you?" It was the woman asking.

"It
used to. That was mostly why I moved to New York a decade ago. I stopped
worrying about her sex life at some point."

"And
you were in New York when this happened?"

"Yes."

"Well,
we're very sorry for your loss, as I am sure others have said," she
offered, looking like she meant it, not a trace of sarcasm or officialdom.

The
detectives gave them all business cards and said they should call if they had
information or questions. Then they left.

"They
don't know whether to call it suicide or homicide," Paul said. "I
wonder what the final police report will say. God knows who was fucking her
that night."

Denis
walked out to the retaining wall that was attempting, unsuccessfully, to keep
the clifftop from eroding. The adobe bricks were uneven and water from the
spring rains had formed little channels under them. He stared at the beautiful
vista that he had known since childhood, the blue hulk of Catalina Island
taking up most of the straight-on view, and a clump of pine trees on the point
that formed the southern end of Lunada Bay.

"It
wasn't suicide," he said. "It just wasn't. We may not have gotten on
well enough to live together, but I knew her, knew her bad habits and her good
impulses. She would not have killed herself. Someone did this to her, whether
it was the guy she was with, or someone else. Someone murdered your mother.
Someone murdered my wife, and if I had gone swimming after that drink instead
of before, that same person might have murdered me without even being
here."